“You crazy fool!” MacGregor was grinding his teeth. “Ha’ you no’ thought of what Shanty Moir will do when he finds what you’ve done to his watch-dog?”
“What I have done?” Reivers laughed his idiotic squaw-man’s laugh. “D’you suppose a poor old bum like me could throttle a man-eater like that beast? You’ll be the one to be blamed for it. Why should I touch Moir’s dog? Moir and I came here together, chummy as a couple of thieves.”
“You would not—you could not do that? You could not put it on me? Man, they’d drop me in the river after the beast, if you got them to believe it.”
“Well?” said Reivers gently.
The Scot bit his lip and grew crafty.
“Well,” he said, “there’d be only you left then to do the dirt-hauling for Shanty Moir.”
Reivers nodded appreciatively.
“You deserve something for that, Mac,” said he.
He lay silent for a few minutes. Then he chuckled suddenly as if he had thought of a good joke.
“Watch me closely now, Mac,” he ordered, “and if you ever feel like speaking that word to Moir, I’ll holler at you worse than this.”